


The Tale of Lady Glorfindel and Lord Erestor

by LearnToShareFeanor



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: And the other refuses to wear clothes from the third age, Basically Erestor is a BAMF, Councilor Erestor, Crossdressing, F/M, Fem Erestor, I found an old prompt, Interracial Relationship, One's just not very feminene, POC Erestor, Sort of? - Freeform, mistaken genders, rule63, war-general Erestor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7165889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnToShareFeanor/pseuds/LearnToShareFeanor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternatively- 'Oh, is this your wife? Wait, you're the wife?'<br/>Just an old prompt I did a while back. It will be a while before I can update my current stories, so I'm pulling out some old works of mine and posting them. Please enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tale of Lady Glorfindel and Lord Erestor

**Author's Note:**

> This one's short, sweet, and was already finished before I even started Midsummer's Nights Dance. I won't be updating my current stories for a while, so I'm digging through old files. Let me know what you think, and I hope you guys enjoy BAMF General Erestor.

     “Do you remember when we met?” Glorfindel asks, lounging upon Erestor’s own chair in their room. Erestor huffed out a laugh- though Glorfindel had insisted on the chair of pale Imladrian wood with soft cushions in a pale lime, the Balrog-slayer usually stole Erestor’s. It was a large, sprawling thing, a gift from a long-dead but still-remembered half-elf who’d chosen a life of mortality.

     “Fishing my memory, dear?” Erestor jested, and Glorfindel tossed a slipper which completely missed its’ intended target and struck, instead, the door to their bathing chambers. “Yes, my love, I remember.”  

     “Twas the night after a hard battle; it was successful, but still, the losses were heavy. I saw that my remaining troops were taken care of; they numbered less than a third of those I started off with. Damn Oropher and his order- he’d commanded his archers to take arms in a melee. We lost too many that day. My second- one of Isildur’s captains- had been lost as well, and I bore a locket with his wife’s picture and a lock of her hair.

     My horses hooves pounded a heavy tattoo upon hard, dusty black earth and rock as we made our way to the top of the rise. This was Mordor, the Black Land, and despite the constant threat of attack, I wasn’t concerned with stealth. I still wore my battle-armor- not the fancy plate I wear to special occasions, you know, but that steel and bronze set that’s twice as heavy.”

     Glorfindel nodded. “Yes, it was- you were coated with soot and blood and mud. I could barely tell you from your horse!”

     Erestor nodded, lost in memory. “Aye. I looked like any other member of the infantry to you, I think. I wore the star of Gil-Galad upon my breast, and upon my shield; the rank underneath them both was still a little confusing to you, I believe.”

     Glorfindel nodded once more. At that time, Sindarin was still a strange new thing. “Tell me of the night.” The golden-haired elf requested. “No more interruptions, I promise.”

     Erestor smiled. “Yes. An interruption.”

     The raven-haired creature was still and quiet for a moment, and continued in soft, occasionally halting words.

     “Many of us wore lockets, as you know. Many of us- for many, those were the only things our families would see. But I- the closest family I had that I would claim was Elrond, and as we both fought, I wore no token from him, nor he from me.

     Anyway, I was stopped by a human messenger, claiming news from the front came in, that I was needed immediately at Gil-Galad’s tent. I was going to give the messenger the locket but- I had known this human for many months, and wished to give the closest kin he had news from my own lips. After all, I would want the same if I had fallen.

     It was a crowded place, but I was a war-General, appointed by King Gil-Galad himself, and his Chief High Councilor in times of peace, so people- they got out of my way. I did not stop for anyone. My horse was given to a squire, but- he wasn’t really my horse. Shade, I think his name was. I do not really remember. Both my horse and its’ replacement died in the same day- it was a hard day and night and another day before the fight ended.

     What I really wanted was not to attend Gil-Galad, but to do my duty and then rest. Rest for however long I was allowed before the war came to the flaps of my tent and I was ordered to lead more men, elves, and dwarves to kill the enemy and be killed themselves.

     It was a dark day for me, not that I could really tell day from night with all the smoke and clouds.

     I bowed, Elrond embraced me before I even rose, desperate as any parted lover as I’d ever seen. Of course, we weren’t that towards one another- but Nienna knew the men there needed gossip about something pleasant, so we did not discourage the rumors. I even came to his tent to rest regularly, as he came to mine. It was more of a need not be be alone, for he was ever a brother or, perhaps, a nephew to me. Never a mate.

     I returned it, and I remember seeing you for the first time- all golden hair and blue eyes, and you wore that dress. The white one, you know, that went down to your knees, and ‘Balrog slayer’ was the last thing to come to my mind. You were the first pure thing I’d seen since I- oh, I don’t remember. Probably Mithlond. And all was daylight and peace in that tent when you were there.

     Erenion, he said something about you being a gift from the Valar, and all I could do was agree- I fear I didn’t hear the rest of it, so busy I was at drinking you in. You were- wine, I suppose, when all I’d had was the sooty, befouled waters of Mordor.”

     Glorfindel flushed and had to glance away to avoid speaking.

     Erestor chuckled. “You still are, love- still beautiful, still the one I want to see the most after the dark days.”

     “It’s a tunic, not a dress- not that you’d know, you’ve never worn one in your life. But you were telling a story, remember?”

     A grin spread across that warm, dark face, and Erestor relented. “Aye, I remember, meleth.

     Elrond was good enough to jerk my hand hard enough through my armor that I paid attention, and we began talking battle plan and strategy once more. You spoke too, though only in Quenya. Your translator started speaking, but I knew it from my father, and I wanted any excuse at all to speak with you, so I switched to the high tongue as well. And then I learned you were the Balrog slayer of old, and all I could think of was- ‘I thought you’d be taller.’”

     Glorfindel laughed. “Yes! I’d only gotten fawning and worship, and here was an elf who dared criticize me. Ah, I was amused. You still amuse me.”

     Erestor smiled. “But that was not all that amused you that day, was it? No. I took off my helm finally, once you’d stopped laughing and I’d controlled my embarrassment, and you seemed so confused. Although, you’d already been told my mother was one of the Black Numenoreans, so I cannot see why you were so confused.”

     “I’d never seen a dark-skinned elf before.”

     “To be fair, I’m only half elven.”

     “Semantics.” Glorfindel said with an eye-roll.

     “But Elrond- sweet Elrond" Erestor continued, "- became offended upon my behalf not because of the color of my skin, which is what you were so amazed by- but because I was female.”

     Glorfindel chortled. “I’ve almost never seen him that angry!”

     Erestor shook her head once more. “Aye, he calmed down towards the end of the second age, but back then he was eager to jump on anything.”

     “Like one of those little dogs.”

     Erestor snorted. “ _Never_ say that where he can hear you. What’s all this about anyway?”

     Glorfindel shrugged, but she wasn’t about to let her long-time lover get away that quickly. “Ah-ah-ah, tell me or get out of my chair.”

     “You insult me, my lord.” He said playfully, and Erestor rose, stalking over to the chair Glorfindel occupied.

     “And you me, my lady.” She returned, eyes dancing in mirth. This was an old joke between the two of them, and of those friends who knew them well. Erestor’s masculine form and clothing, along with an incredibly controlling attitude (at least, outside of private), led many to incorrectly assume that she was the male in the relationship. Glorfindel did not help matters; he wore his golden hair long and unbound, and was fond of the long tunics which were popular for males in the first age, but were now considered dresses, and he was by far the more friendly of the two.

     "How long ago was that?"

     "Millenia, certainly." She responded, taking her place on her lover's lap. "Why do you ask?"

     He shrugged. "Oh, perhaps it's about time to do something that Elrond has been after me to do for a while."

     "And that is?"

     "Marry you, I suppose. I anticipate I should wear the dress?"


End file.
